"Good," Elena said. She checked her watch. "I'll be back tomorrow at 8:00 AM for initial mobility work. Have your breakfast finished."
She turned on her heel and walked to the door.
"Elena?" Ryder called out.
She paused, her hand on the knob. She didn't turn around.
"It's good to see you," he said.
She stood there for a long heartbeat. Her shoulders tensed.
"Get some sleep, Ryder," she said.
She walked out.
Ryder lay alone in the darkening room. The pain in his leg was dulling to a thrumming beat, but the ache in his chest—the one he had carried for six years—was sharper than ever.
He looked at the water stain on the ceiling. It looked like a storm cloud now.
He closed his eyes.
The King had returned. And his kingdom was a twelve-by-twelve room controlled by the woman whose heart he had broken.
Welcome home,he thought.
And then the drugs took him down into the black.
CHAPTER 3: THE ZERO SUM
I. The Dial Tone
Morning in the guest room was a study in gray. The sun tried to push through the heavy velvet drapes Cole had drawn, but it only managed a dull, slate-colored ambient light.
Ryder lay still.
His body was a map of grievances. His shoulder throbbed with a dull, bass-heavy rhythm. His ribs felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire. But the leg... the leg was silent.
It was the silence of a held breath. The nerve block was long gone. The Oxycodone from last night had worn off at 4:00 AM, leaving him sweating and shivering in the sheets, counting the cracks in the plaster until dawn.
He looked at the bottle on the dresser. It was five feet away.
It might as well have been on the moon.
Rule Number Three: I control the dosage.
"Sadist," Ryder muttered.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand with his good hand. It was the only lifeline he had left. The screen was cracked—another casualty of the wreck—but it lit up.
10:00 AM Vegas Time.
His agent, Marcus, would be in the office. Marcus, who had called him "The Golden Boy" three days ago. Marcus, who had promised him the Nike deal.
Ryder dialed.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Voicemail," Ryder whispered. "Pick up, you parasite."
